


In Fire & Blood

by JulietaJuris



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietaJuris/pseuds/JulietaJuris
Summary: Joffrey is the supposed heir to Robert Baratheon's empire. When news leaks of his mother's incest, Joffrey makes an attempt to eradicate all that contest his claim. Jon Snow - originally sent to death - finds himself fighting for his life in the Emperor's fighting pits for his freedom as well as Sansa's freedom from Emperor Joffrey.[AU based off of the 2000 Gladiator Film]





	1. I. The Wildling Horde

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this over a year ago and made regular updates. I took it down after a lot of harassment on tumblr. I needed a long break from fandom, but I heard so many people were sad that I removed this specific fic so I'm reposting it. Small edits will be made, but this is one of the few fics of mine I really felt was solid for the most part.
> 
> LadyCarolineMichaelson beta-ed each of the chapters previously written. So, a special thanks to her for making this the best fic it could possibly be.
> 
> For reasons stated above concerning harassment, comment moderation will be on. I will get to all of your comments and reply to all of them. Thank you for reading.

The northern wind cuts through Jon’s exposed skin, sending a chill through him. Jon thinks to the small fireplace in his room, he yearns for the crackling fire burning in the hearth. For now, he’ll have to settle for the warmth provided by heavy furs and layers of clothing.

 

Jon grips the reins attached to his horse with gloved hands. His eyes are forward as he waits for his father’s messenger to return. Perhaps, Mance Rayder will be reasonable and return farther North with his horde of Wildlings. Father, Robb, and Jon will be able to return to Winterfell, this entire senseless battle can be prevented, and not a drop of blood would be shed today. That would be the best outcome, but also an unrealistic expectation.

 

A horse is galloping towards them with father’s messenger on top. There are several arrows protruding from the man’s body. The horse slows, and the messenger slides off the horse in one swift motion. Mance Rayder has sent his message, and not the message father or the emperor had hoped for. Jon’s shoulders stiffen and his jaw clenches.

 

A horde of Wildlings are charging towards them, some on foot and others on horseback. Father pulls his sword of Valyrian Steel from its sheath. He raises his sword into the air before screaming _“charge_ ”. Jon whips the reins attached to his horse, drawing his sword as the black horse charges forward. His breath is heavy as his hands clench around the blade of his sword. Robb and father pass him, swords both drawn.

 

Robb’s sword clashes with a Wildling, unhorsing the man from his horse in one swift blow. Jon pulls against his horse reigns, dodging the unmanned horse with ease. A Wildling is charging towards Jon, wielding a large battle ax. Jon ducks, barely missing the blade. He rises and slashes his sword into the Wildling’s side.

 

A fair haired woman is charging towards him on horseback, spear pointed towards him. The sight of a woman on the battlefield stalls him long enough for her to lodge the spear into Jon’s horse. The horse shrieks as it stands on its hind legs. Jon is thrown from his horse, watching as it runs off with the spear still lodged in its chest.

 

Jon’s head is spinning as he lays flat in the snow. He draws in a sharp breath as his hand feels for his sword. He feels for the end of the hilt and takes the sword back in hand. Jon rolls over onto his side, sticking his sword into the ground as he pulls himself to his feet.

 

His eyes begin to refocus as he searches for his father and Robb. Robb is still on top of his horse, cutting through an oncoming Wildling. Father is fighting on foot with Ice still in hand. Father’s sword cuts through a wooden spear and cuts deep into the side of a burly Wildling. Jon slashes through a sea of soldiers, trying desperately to reach his father in the fray of sheep-skin clothed men. His sword blocks a heavy ax. Both his hands clutch tightly to the hilt of his long sword. Jon bites his lip. The Wildling towers over him, pushing his ax against Jon’s blade with the might of three men.

 

Robb’s blade swings against the Wildling’s neck, taking it clean off in one slice. Blood spurts from the Wildling’s neck before his body falls backwards. Robb grins to Jon from his horse before galloping back into the fray of Wildlings surrounding his father. Jon darts into the crowd, slashing through sheep-skin as he claws through the men and women pledged behind Mance Rayder.

 

They had underestimated the Wildling Horde by reducing them to merely incapable barbaric men. The men and women fight fierce in numbers that father had never anticipated. Jon blocks another oncoming blade with his long sword. He sucks in a deep breath of cold air. He drives the blade into the gut of a fair haired Wildling woman. Her blue eyes become blank, and Jon feels as if his heart is being crushed under the weight of a thousand stones. It's the first time he's killed a woman, and the feeling is more devastating than he could have ever imagined.

 

Jon hears the booming sound of a horn in the distance. He pulls his sword from the woman, letting her lifeless body fall into the snow beneath him. Jon’s eyes raise forward to see the Emperor dressed in black and gold. He rides gallantly into battle on horseback holding a large hammer in hand. A gold crown of leaves rest on his head as Robert hoists his hammer above his head. His men are galloping behind him with swords drawn. Robert smashes his hammer into a Wildling’s skull effortlessly. Jon wonders if Robert killed Emperor Aerys’ first born son just as easily.

 

The Emperor's men rush into the fray of with swords held high, breaking through a cluster of Wildling men and women. Jon feels his adrenaline spike as he watches the Wildling Horde fall one by one. He sees his father’s sword clashing against the sword of a bearded man. Jon’s sword cuts through a Wildling man as he pushes further through the throng of sheep-skinned men and women, trying with all his might to reach his father.

 

Jon sees his father thrust Ice into the long haired Wildling man. _Mance Rayder_. The Wildling King has fallen. His horde is falling back and retreating North. Robert’s army is cutting down the remaining men and women till not a Wildling is left standing. Jon’s right hand grips his long sword as he scans the battlefield. What once was a blanket of white snow is now coated in both the blood and bodies of the dead. Snow is falling from above as adrenaline is still running through his veins. Jon should feel victorious, but he feels so _horrible_. Perhaps Father felt the same way when fighting by Robert’s side so many years ago.

 

Robb slows his horse in front of both Jon and their father. Robb swings his leg over as he dismounts from the brown horse. Robb approaches Father first, embracing him tightly. Robb parts from Father and embraces Jon, his hands clapping Jon’s shoulder before parting.

 

“It's good to see you alive, brother,” Robb says.

 

“I was about to say the same for you,” Jon says.

 

Father is approaching him. He embraces Jon. His father parts from him and looks down upon him with solemn grey eyes. “You fought well, Jon.”

 

“It was a honor to fight by your side, father,” Jon dips his head in a low bow. He rises and pivots towards Robb. “You as well, brother.”

 

“The honor is mine,” Robb says with a smile.

 

“ _Ned!”_

 

Jon shifts his gaze to Robert. Robert approaches his father and squeezes him in a tight hug. Father and Robert both burst into laughter as they part from one another.

 

“It's been too long,” his father says.

 

“You must visit more often! The senate, the wife -- they're all thorns in my side,” Robert grins. “Perhaps, if you were a senator…”

 

His father lets out a nervous laugh and says, “I’m honored, but my place is in Winterfell.”

 

“I thought you would say that,” Robert says. “But, you ought to visit more often. Not just for my sake, Ned. Sansa misses you as much as I do.”

 

“How is she?” Father asks.

 

“Ask her yourself,” Robert says. “She’s riding here with my son as we speak.”

 

The last time Jon had seen Sansa Stark, she was still but a child. He remembers her long red hair and blue eyes. She looked so much like her mother and took so much after Lady Catelyn. Even to the point that she referred to him as nothing more than her _bastard half-brother_ . The day she left Winterfell, Sansa had hugged Robb the tightest. She'd embraced Rickon, and grudgingly gave Arya a simple goodbye. Bran was still unconscious from his fall, but Jon recalls her attempt to say goodbye to him while Bran still lay asleep. Sansa did not hug Jon nor did she say goodbye to him. She was her mother’s daughter, and Jon’s birth was the very symbol of her father’s betrayal to Sansa’s dear mother. _Still_ , it would be sweet to see her. Perhaps the capitol has changed her.

 

Robert is engrossed in repeating yet another retelling of his victory in Harrenhall. Jon follows Robb, allowing Robert to further immerse himself in his old war stories. They walk side by side in silence. Robb stops and looks to Jon.

 

“I am delighted that I will see our sister,” Robb smile fades when he pauses. “But, I would like to spend as little time with Joffrey as I possibly can.”

 

Jon bursts into a small fit of laughter and says, “When father passes, you will serve Joffrey.”

 

“Please do not remind me,” Robb says. “I would like to delude myself into believing that day will never come.”

 

Both brothers erupt into laughter. When the laughter settles, Robb frowns. His eyes are solemn just as father’s often are. “Father and the Emperor are like brothers. I had hoped that I would have that same bond with the emperor I would come to serve.”

 

“One can hope Joffrey has grown over the years since his last visits,” Jon says.

 

“Yes, _but_ one can hope in one hand and shit in the other,” Robb grins. “We shall see which one fills up first.”

 

Jon and Robb both laugh. Perhaps, it is best he was born a bastard. He had often wished to be born in Robb’s shoes, but to serve Joffrey Baratheon would be like the purest form of torture. Jon imagines he might marry a simple plebeian woman. Perhaps they shall have a son or daughter, and he might be able to live out his life without answering to the emperor or the senate. It would be easy, but Jon often times cannot help but long for more.

 

Jon’s eyes raise as a carriage moves into their camp -- _Sansa._ Robb and Father move towards the stopped carriage, both men standing side by side. Emperor Robert stands with both hands clasped in front of him, a drunken grin plastered on his face. A servant sets a set of stairs before the carriage and opens the door. The Empress is the first to exit the carriage. Cersei is dressed in white furs that compliments her gown of red and gold. Robert offers his hand to Cersei. She takes it his hand and dismissively avoids eye contact with her husband. Joffrey is the next to exit. He steps down the staircase, a smug smile upon his wormy lips. He steps next to his mother and holds his hand out expectantly.

 

Sansa emerges from the carriage in grey furs and a blue gown. Her eyes go to Joffrey first, and then to Robb and Father. She takes Father’s hand instead of Joffrey’s. Sansa jumps into her father’s arm rather than moving down the makeshift staircase. Father sets Sansa down on her feet. She turns to Robb and the two embrace tightly.

 

Sansa, Robb, and Father are all engaged in small talk. Jon watches, noticing that Sansa has grown taller and also more beautiful within the last years. He's about to turn away until Sansa’s eyes meet with his. He is taken aback by the smile upon her face as she parts from Robb and Father. She approaches him, stopping only at arms length. Their eyes meet and Jon dips his head in a small bow.

 

“It's good to see you, brother,” her words are soft and sweet, a stark contrast from the indifference he's become accustomed to over the years.

 

“It is good to see you too, Sansa,” Jon says.

 

Sansa takes Jon’s arm in hers. “Walk with me.”

 

Jon obliges. Her sudden interest in him stuns him. Perhaps she has grown in her years at the capitol. The disinterested stare she once gave him has been replaced by a soften glance from her eyes of Tully blue. She's stops when they are a good distance from the carriage.

 

“How is Winterfell?” she asks.

 

“It's more or less the same as you left it,” Jon says. “Bran has adjusted since he’s woken from his fall. Rickon’s growing like a weed. Your mother misses you. Lady...sleeps in my room with Ghost mostly.”

 

Sansa smiles. “And, Arya? You two were always so close…”

 

“She's the same,” Jon says. “Stubborn as a bull.”

 

“Some things may never change. Arya and I fought quite a bit, but I suppose distance makes the heart grow fonder,” her words end in a soft quiver.

 

“The capitol displeases you,” it's a statement not a question.

 

Jon’s eyes meet hers. She lowers her eyes, keeping her eyes to the snow beneath her feet. She attempts a small, false smile as she looks back to Jon.

 

“The Capitol is...nice,” she says. “It is just that I find myself missing home from time to time.”

 

A sharp winter breeze cuts through them. Jon looks to Sansa once more. Her chin is raised high, and she keeps her features even when she speaks, “I have had much time to think of how awful I was to you, Jon.”

 

“You were never awful…”

 

“ _Sansa!”_ Joffrey’s piercing screech cuts through Jon’s ears like knives.

 

“I was  _very_ awful, Jon,” her eyes hold his gaze as she pauses. “It is good to see you, Jon. Excuse me, I must return to my betrothed.”

 

“Of course,” Jon dips his head into a small bow.

 

Jon sees Joffrey waiting next to Cersei. Cersei’s arms are crossed in disapproval, and Joffrey’s face expresses his own disapproval of Sansa’s actions. She is unhappy. It's so evident in the way Sansa walks and speaks. It's written all over her face that she wants out of her betrothal. Jon’s eyes meet with Joffrey. The boy’s lips turn downward into a nasty scowl. His eyes narrow to Jon before he turns away, taking Sansa’s arm in his with a rough tug.

 

There must be a way to end her betrothal. Surely, Father should have some say in the matter. Jon clenches his fist together. He cannot stay silent and live with the guilt of his own silence. He must say something to Father before Sansa makes leave to the capitol. If Sansa is being mistreated, Father and Robb will not let her leave back to King’s Landing. Jon looks to Robb. He’ll speak to his brother first, and then, he will speak to father.

  
  



	2. II. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta LadyCarolineMichaelson for correcting this chapter.

Jon gazes into a pit a fire. The fire snaps as a log shifts in the pit. His eyes shift from the fire as he hears footsteps come towards him. There is a woman dressed in a long red dress and heavy black furs. Her fiery red hair spills passed her breasts, and her eyes study him in a sharp piercing stare. She stands next to Jon, her eyes still on him like a hawk.

 

“Jon Snow,” the woman's voice is thick when she speaks.

 

Jon shifts to face her. He keeps his eyes on her, watching her movements closely. Their eyes meet for a mere second. It feels as if she can see into his very soul. Jon jerks his head away, trying to keep his face indifferent as her eyes stare him down.

 

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” she says. “What is it that you fear, Jon Snow?”

 

“I don't fear anything,” his lie is obvious, but he hopes it will deter her from pressing further.

 

“All men fear one thing or another,” the woman looks into the flames. “I see a woman. She is very fair with skin of porcelain. She’s chained... _trapped_ in a tower she does not wish to be.”

 

Jon’s shoulders tense. He forces himself to avoid eye contact with her. His voice is hardened when he speaks. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“I only speak what the lord tells me,” she says.

 

Jon stares into the fire. He does not see a woman. He does not see chains or a tower. He only sees the burning embers devouring charred logs. He rises and looks to the woman. Her eyes are a striking red -- _red like blood._ Jon tenses under her gaze. He cannot tell if she means ill or well.

 

“What does _the lord_ tell you?” he asks.

 

“He tells me lots of things,” she says. “He tells me much about you. You have a destiny -- one that will bring you with much pain and grief.”

 

“I don't believe in destiny,” his voice is more blunt than he had wished it to be.

 

She is silent for mere seconds, pausing to look him directly in the eyes. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

 

The Red Woman holds her gaze for only a moment before walking passed him. A tingling sensation runs through Jon. The way the woman spoke to him makes his skin crawl. Who exactly is she to Robert? Perhaps Cersei has sent her as a thinly veiled threat for speaking with Sansa.

 

 _Sansa_. There’s been this desire to act since their conversation, but Jon is unsure of the appropriate way to approach his suspicions of Joffrey. His initial thought was to beat the boy to a bloody pulp, but to do so would only create discord for Sansa and his family. He looks to Robb. He's engaged in a heated conversation with Theon Greyjoy. Perhaps, he can relay his suspicions to Robb first. Robb would be better versed in how to approach father with the subject.

 

Jon walks to Robb and Theon. He looks to Robb. “May we speak in private?”

 

Robb nods, breaking away with Theon. The men walk side by side until they reach Robb’s tent. Both men enter the small makeshift home Robb’s men have constructed for him. Jon weighs his options one last time. To announce his suspicions to Robb might have repercussions, but to say nothing may seal Sansa in a miserable marriage to Joffrey. Father would wish to know if his first born daughter is in an unwanted engagement. If Jon wants to be as honorable as Father, he cannot allow Sansa to leave with Joffrey.

 

Jon breathes. “I am not as close to Sansa as you are…”

 

Robb lowers his head, setting both palms on his desk. He releases a sharp breath. “I am not the only one that notices, then?”

 

“I think we should go to father,” Jon says. “Your mother’s suspicions about Bran, and now Sansa’s behavior -- Joffrey and Cersei always seem to bring upon misery to our family when they are near.”

 

“You suspect that my mother was correct that Bran might have seen something amiss before his fall?” Robb asks.

 

“I don't suspect. _I know_ ,” Jon insists. “He won't admit it, but he saw _something._ Cersei is hiding something from all of us. Your mother was convinced the day Bran fell…”

 

Robb’s blue eyes lower to his hands. He draws in a sharp breath before releasing a heavy sigh. His forehead is creased and his lips are pressed into a straight line. Robb raises his eyes to Jon. He pounds on the table in one sharp motion. He's swearing under his breath as he presses both his hands against the wooden desk.

 

“I have no choice but to address the issue to Father. It will likely stir chaos, but to remain silent will condemn our sister to a marriage to Joffrey,” Robb pauses. He raises both hands from the table and stands straight. “I shall find Father and Sansa. Wait here.”

 

Jon gives Robb a curt nod. Robb rounds the desk and leaves the tent. His shoulders are tense as his mind races. What had Bran seen that day? Does Sansa know? Jon’s mind is reaching for an answer, but nothing comes to him.

 

Sansa enters the tent first. Father and Robb follow behind her. She's wearing a deep blue silks and clutching to heavy gray furs. Her face is so pale, and when her eyes meet his, they say so much. _No_ , Sansa isn't happy. The way her eyes lower demurely to conceal so much reveals the pain that she tries so desperately to hide.

 

Father rounds the table and sits at the head of Robb’s desk. The tent is painfully quiet. Sansa looks to Jon first before turning to Robb. Robb places one hand on her shoulder protectively as she faces father.

 

“ _Sansa_ ,” father's voice is low as he speaks. “Is there something you wish to tell us?”

 

Sansa shakes her head. “No, father…”

 

Robb looks to Sansa. His eyes are soft as they met hers. “If Joffrey and Cersei are mistreating you, we will protect you.”

 

Sansa’s eyes lower to the floor. Her hands clasp together as her eyes raise back to her father.

 

“Cersei and Jaime…” her voice becomes thin. “I had never paid mind to what was so clear. Perhaps a part of me always knew, but wouldn't allow myself to believe it. Then, Joffrey’s _temper_ became exceedingly difficult, and I started to suspect Cersei just as Mother had…”

 

Sansa’s eyes become glossy. A single tear escapes her, and he can sense all of her pain -- _all of her fear_ \-- with each word she speaks, “Senator Baelish had made a statement to me one morning. ‘Do you not notice how close she is with her brother?’ I did not catch his meaning at first, but I had taken notice that her children look so much like Cersei and not much like Robert. For a time, I had thought I was searching for a reason to end my engagement with Joffrey or perhaps that I was just going mad...until I saw them _together._ Cersei does not know. Neither does Jaime. If they knew, I'm sure you would be sent a _heartfelt_ letter from the Empress that I'd fallen from a tower just as Bran had…”

 

All in the tent fall quiet. Jon’s stomach twists as he imagines what Sansa must have seen. He feels sick to his stomach just imagining it. Jon looks to Father. His eyes are lowered and his hands are shaking. Sansa is pale. She leans into Robb. Robb wraps his arms around her protectively. Robb’s blue eyes meet Father’s.

 

“We can't let Sansa marry Joffrey!” Robb snaps. “Not after hearing her confession. And _Bran_...he's known this entire time, but has been scared into silence by that _woman_ and her brother!”

 

“Quiet Robb!” Father says. “The walls have ears. I have no doubt that Cersei has men working in her favor. We must make our plans and move carefully.”

 

“What do you suggest that we do, Father?” Jon asks.

 

Father is quiet. His grey eyes are distant as they always are when Father is deep in thought. He laces both of his hands together and leans forward. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Robb, ride to Winterfell. Tell your mother what we know. Do not let Cersei see you leave.”

 

“Yes, father,” Robb says as he dips his head into a small bow.

 

Father’s eyes are on Jon. “I will speak with Robert myself when the time is right. Jon, until I am able to meet with Robert, you will stay close to Sansa. Do not leave this tent until I return.”

 

Robb leaves the tent with Father, leaving Jon with Sansa. Jon looks to her, searching for words to say. Her eyes meet his, and her right hand clutches into the grey furs wrapped around her shoulders. Jon wants to give her words of hope -- to tell her that it will all be fine. He wishes he could be optimistic, but one small mishap on their part could be fatal.

 

He manages to say, “Father will handle this.”

 

She shifts onto one leg, adjusting her grey furs. “You seem certain. _Are you_?”

 

“I want to be,” he says.

 

“As do I…”

 

Jon walks to the desk. His hand touches the smooth oak. He turns to face Sansa. “I will protect you. I promise.”

 

Sansa’s blue eyes flicked up to his. Her voice is a harsh whisper when she speaks, “I'm not sure there is much Father can do. If he confesses the truth to Robert, the Lannisters won’t leave without a fight.”

 

“No, they won't,” Jon agrees. “But Robert is the Emperor…”

 

Sansa scoffs. “Robert is either drunk or at a brothel.”

 

“Drunk or not he must act when Father speaks of Cersei's infidelity,” Jon reasons. “This is not a matter Robert can just ignore.”

 

“I…” she pauses. “I just want to be at home with Mother, Jeyne, and Lady. I do not care if Father keeps Cersei’s secret. Joffrey will find another poor woman to marry him. It might be best this way.”

 

Jon can sense her regret. Sansa is doubting herself for speaking the truth. Jon approaches her. He wants to embrace her just as Robb had embraced her. Sansa and him -- they were never close. It feels invasive to even be close to her. He can scarcely feel the watching eyes of Catelyn Stark on him as if she were in this very room with him. He sees Lady Catelyn scowling at him with disapproval at the very sight of him being close to her daughter, and it stops him from getting too close to her.

 

Father returns to the tent. “Robert has had much to drink. I will wait until his mind is clear to speak with him.”

 

“Oh, of course he has!” Sansa snaps.

 

Father looks to Sansa. She’s wrapping her furs tightly around herself as if they alone can protect her. Her eyes are dilated and her skin is so pale. Father turns his focus to Jon.

 

“With Robb leaving for Winterfell, I need you to watch over Sansa,” Father says. “I do not wish for her to be alone with Joffrey or Cersei if it can be prevented.”

 

Jon gives Father a small nod. “I won’t let her out of my sight.”

 

Sansa’s eyes meet with Jon’s. She manages to smile for only a moment. Jon has been so used to her looking to him with disinterest that he cannot even remember if she’s ever smiled to him before. It’s _nice_. Lady Catelyn may never come to love him, but to have Sansa finally accept him is enough for Jon. He tries to imagine that maybe Sansa and Arya might act more like sisters than rivals. He remembers Ghost curled up with Lady. It would be so _nice_.

 

Sansa’s eyes lower to the ground. Her arms are wrapped around herself. She breathes and asks, “Cersei hasn’t noticed?”

 

“I have not seen her since she first arrived to camp,” Father says.

 

Sansa’s features seemed strained. Her eyes are distant once more. Father looks to Sansa and places his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

 

“I know that you have been afraid for a long time, Sansa,” he says. “But, you are here with your family now. Cersei can’t isolate you from us, and we will protect you.”

 

Sansa leans into Father, and he returns her embrace. She’s sobbing into Father’s chest, and Jon only wishes that there was an easy solution for all of this. He makes a vow to the Gods that no matter the outcome that he will do whatever it takes to keep Sansa Stark safe from the Lannisters. Whatever it takes -- he will protect her.


	3. III. Into the Lion’s Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANYWAYS...back to it! This chapter was beta read by LadyCarolineMichaelson many moons ago during the first incarnation of this story. I have nothing but gratitude to how much work she put into helping me with this story.

Sansa pulls a heavy fur blanket from her as she sits up in her makeshift bed. Myrcella has not woken yet but the Empress is wide awake. She's glaring down at her with wild green eyes. It is how she always looks to her. Sansa swings her feet over the side the bed. She avoids eye contact with Cersei as she goes to her trunk. She pulls the lid up and sifts through her folded gowns for a silver dress. She takes the gown in one arm along with a pair of undergarments.

 

Sansa catches Cersei’s glance before she disappears behind a folding screen with her clothes. Sansa sets her clothes on a hook and pulls her nightgown over her head. She puts on her undergarments before pulling the silver dress over her head. She runs a brush through her hair and looks at herself in the mirror. Sansa looks as an Empress should look like and she hates it. She sets the brush down and keeps her eyes forward as she steps out of the privacy screen. She goes to her boats next to the coat hook. She pulls a pair of long boats over her feet first. Then, she grabs a long white fur coat from the coat hook and pulls it over her shoulders.

 

“Sansa,” Cersei’s tone is laced with malice. “Come here, little dove.”

 

Sansa straightens her furs before she turns to Cersei. She steps towards her till she's only a few feet from her. Their eyes meet and Sansa’s stomach turns.

 

“Yes, your grace,” Sansa does her best to keep her voice neutral.

 

“You have not spent time with your betrothed or his family,” Cersei says. “Is something the matter, Sansa?”

 

Sansa can hear the false concern in the Empress’ voice. She manages a small smile and dares to look Cersei in the eye. “I have not seen my family in a very long time. I've missed Father and Robb…”

 

“And, the bastard?”

 

Cersei’s words feel as if they're clawing into her skin. Sansa flinches slightly and chooses her words carefully. “He is my Father’s son and shares my blood.”

 

“You felt differently before your arrival to King’s Landing,” Cersei’s eyes narrow into slits as her lips curve into a half smile.

 

“I did, your grace,” Sansa says. “I was a mere child then. I had time since to think of how poorly I treated my own flesh and blood.”

 

“Hmm,” Cersei’s grin widens. “I am worried for you, my little dove. I had feared that you might be unhappy with your new family.”

 

 _I am a wolf—not a dove—and you are not my family._ It is what Sansa wishes she could say, but she fears what the Empress might do. She sees the fire behind Cersei’s eyes, and it terrifies her. _Does she know?_ Sansa’s gut sinks as she fears that Empress had heard word of her confession to Father. Her heart feels as if it's being crushed, and Sansa can barely even breath. She must go to Robert herself. He will ask Father of Cersei’s incest, and Sansa will finally be free.

 

“Is his grace to join us to break our fast?” Sansa ask.

 

“Robert has decided to hunt this morning,” Cersei says. “We shall eat without him.”

 

Sansa skin crawls as Cersei scowls to her. _She knows._ Sansa’s chest is tight as panic courses through her veins. She has to act. Father and Jon are still at camp. They will protect her if the Empress tries to hurt her. Sansa curtsies and conceals as much of her fear as she feasibly can.

 

“It would be my honor to join you,” Sansa says.

 

Sansa stands straight and pulls her furs around her. She turns away from Cersei in an attempt to flee the tent. She hears Cersei clear her throat and Sansa stops.

 

“Where are you going?” her voice is sharp and clipped.

 

Sansa half turns to look to Cersei. “I wish to see my Father. We will be leaving at first light tomorrow. I'd like to see as much of Father and Jon before I live.”

 

“ _And, Robb...?”_ her words feel more like a threat than a question.

 

“Yes, and Robb, your grace.”

 

“It's peculiar,” Cersei’s voice teases. “I haven't seen him at camp. Where is your brother, Sansa?”

 

“He has been watching outside camp in case another horde attacks,” Sansa lies.

 

“ _How noble_ ,” Cersei’s voice is cold.

 

 _Gods, she really does know_ . Sansa looks to Cersei. Sansa straightens her posture and tries to compose herself as much as she possibly can. She must see Father and Jon. Cersei is planning something. Sansa can feel it in her bones. If Father and Jon are to live by nightfall, they must leave _now_.

 

“I wish to see my half-brother, your grace,” Sansa says. “May I be excused?”

 

“Do as you please,” Cersei waves the back of her hand to Sansa as if she were a mere insect.

 

Sansa ignores the insult and curtsies to the Empress before exiting the tent. She walks towards the fire pit and glances around the camp for Jon. Melisandre steps behind her and Sansa’s eyes avert from her. The woman has always made her feel uncomfortable from the way she speaks to her haunting, blood red eyes.

 

“My dear Lady Sansa,” she says to her. “What ails you, little wolf?”

 

“I had forgotten how cold the North is over the years,” Sansa says dismissively. “Thank you for your concern.”

 

Melisandre’s eyes glance into the fire. The way her eyes become so fixated on the flames has always given Sansa the chills. Sansa pulls her white furs around her as her eyes search for Jon.

 

“I see so much,” Melisandre’s voice is dark and rich. “You have such a complicated life ahead of you, my lady.”

 

“I am to marry the Emperor’s son,” Sansa says. “He will be Emperor one day. My life will never be simple.”

 

“I see great sorrow for a time,” Melisandre says. “But, it will pass.”

 

Sansa’s heart flutters with hope. Robert had seen this woman as the voice of the Gods. If he has devoted his faith to her perhaps she should at least hear what this woman has to say.

 

“I will not be Empress?” Sansa asks.

 

“You _will_ be Empress.”

 

Sansa's heart drops as her words. She thinks of a lifetime as Joffrey’s loyal consort and that alone makes her want to die. She shall never see Father or Mother. She shall never see her brothers or her sister. She won’t see Lady. She won't see Jon. Joffrey will beat her and ride her like a horse to produce that inbred bastard’s heir. She feels sick just thinking about it.

 

“You will marry the true born heir to the empire,” Melisandre says. “A man of royal blood.”

 

The Red Woman’s words are chilling. Sansa pivots towards the woman and looks into her blood red eyes. “Stannis Baratheon?”

 

 _Stannis_. Sansa has scarcely interacted with the Emperor’s recently widowed brother. He's cold and hardened like iron. _It would be better than Joffrey._ Stannis wouldn't be sweet. He doesn't have a pretty face, and he might not ever have much to do with her at all. But, _at least_ , Stannis won't hurt her. Stannis would be good for the Empire. He won’t start pointless wars fueled by a fragile ego. He won’t neglect his duties as Emperor. He won't be kind, but he won't be cruel.

 

“Stannis would be a good Emperor,” Sansa says.

 

“You won't marry Stannis,” The woman looks to her. “The man you will marry does not carry the soul of a stag, but the soul of a dragon. The blood of dragons runs through his veins just as Rhaegar.”

 

Sansa scoffs at Melisandre. She was stupid to even listen to her. “The Targaryens are dead. Their line died with Rhaegar.”

 

Sansa sees Jon approaching her. Relief courses through her as she walks towards Jon. It takes everything in her not to throw her arms around him. She looks into Jon’s brown eyes. She's trembling, and she can't even think of a time she's been this terrified.

 

“We need to leave,” Sansa’s says.

 

“Sansa…” Jon says.

 

Sansa feels as if she’s being crushed by the weight of her stress. Her breath becomes heavy as she pulls the white furs tightly around herself. Jon’s eyes look to her with concern as Sansa steps closer to him.

 

“Jon,” her voice is thin as a sheet of ice. “We need to go.”

 

“Sansa…” Jon puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “Father is with Robert as we speak. Cersei won't hurt you anymore.”

 

“Jon... _please,”_ Sansa pleads. “If we stay here, she is going to hurt you. _Please_ ...let’s ride to Winterfell. I will leave all my gowns and jewelry. _Please...”_

 

“We must wait for Father,” Jon says. “I will ask to take you to Winterfell when he returns.”

 

“Father isn't coming back, Jon,” Sansa whispers. “Cersei has made her plans. She knows that we know of her and Jaime. If we don't leave now, we won't get another chance…”

 

Sansa looks to Cersei. She is whispering to Meryn Trant and looking towards the both of them. Jon’s eyes follow Sansa’s gaze, and he puts his arms around her shoulders.

 

“Walk with me,” Jon says.

 

His walk is more of a light sprint as they make their way through the camp. _This is it._ This is where Jon will die and Joffrey will drag her back to King’s Landing for her to be wedded, bedded, and beaten. Jon glances over his shoulder. He takes his arm from around her shoulders and grabs her hand.

 

“ _Run,”_ Jon whispers.

 

Sansa clutches tightly to Jon’s hands as they break into a full sprint. Her breath is heavy as her heart pounds against her chest. _She's going to kill him._ Cersei Lannister is going to kill her Father and Jon. She’ll sick her inbred son on her family. Joffrey’s men will kill Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, and Mother. Sansa’s chest burns. She can hear the men trailing behind them. A group of soldiers rush in front of them. Jon turns to his right but more soldiers rush in to block them. They're completely surrounded by Lannister men.

 

Jon puts his arms around Sansa to shield her. Sansa rests her head on his chest. Tears are flowing freely down her cheeks as sheer terror consumes her. They must have Father in chains _or worse..._ he may already be dead. Sansa’s fingers clutch to Jon’s coat. Her legs are trembling. Her heart is racing, and all she can hope for is that Robb managed to make it far away from camp.

 

The guards part to make way for Joffrey. There's a smug smile on his wormy lips. His green eyes glare to her and then to Jon. She should not have come North. She should not have said anything. Father and Jon will die for her mistakes. She looks to Joffrey. She wishes she could believe that he will be merciful. She knows better. Joffrey will hurt Jon. He’ll hurt her. He’ll hurt all of her family.

 

“ _Sansa!_ ” Joffrey hisses her name. “Come here!”

 

“You don't have to go,” Jon whispers.

 

“Yes, I do,” she whispers back. “Or, he’ll kill you to get to me.”

 

Sansa releases her hold on Jon’s coat. She parts from Jon’s arms reluctantly as she walks to Joffrey. She can feel everyone watching her. They expect her to resist. Sansa wishes she could. _Gods_ , she wishes it more than anything. But, she can't -- not if she expects for her and Jon to live.

 

“Your father has committed an act of great treason,” Joffrey says.

 

“What has my father done, your grace?” Sansa asks.

 

“You do not know?” Joffrey ask. “But, you were so willing to run with your bastard brother.”

 

“I was...startled,” Sansa says. “I should not have run. There must be a misunderstanding. Surely your father…”

 

“My father is dead!” Joffrey snaps. “And, by your Father’s hands.”

 

Sansa’s entire body goes numb. “My Father wouldn't hurt the Emperor…”

 

“I am the Emperor and you will address me as such!” Joffrey’s scream is deafening.

 

“Yes, your grace,” her voice is meak when she speaks.

 

“Your brother has left camp, my father is dead, and your bastard brother tried to flee with you -- my dear betrothed,” Joffrey says. “Why did Robb leave?”

 

“He is searching outside camp…”

 

“We have searched,” Joffrey interrupts. “Robb Stark seems to have vanished.”

 

Sansa is not even sure how to respond. Her eyes lower to the white snow beneath her feet. “I wasn't aware that he left.”

 

“Sansa...you are not to be faulted for the actions of your father,” Joffrey says. “ _But,_ your bastard brother will be. _Seize him!_ ”

 

Sansa turns around to see a pair of men grabbing both of Jon’s arms. She's so selfish. This is her fault. Fresh tears brim her eyes as she looks to Joffrey.

 

“Please my _dearest_ Emperor,” Sansa nearly vomits as she speaks to him with words of endearment. “Jon is a ward to my father -- a mere plebeian. He has nothing to do with any of this.”

 

“Maybe...maybe not,” Joffrey says. “But, he must pay for the sins of his father. Janos Slynt…please see that Sansa is escorted to my mother.”

 

Sansa feels Janos’ hands grab hold of her. She sees Jon being tackled by four of Joffrey’s men. She struggles against Janos’ grasp. Her tears are flowing down her face as she tries to break free of his hold.

 

“ _Jon!”_ Sansa screams. “ _Stop!_ You're hurting him!”

 

“Don't cry, my love,” Joffrey says. “You’ll soon see the truth about your family.”

  



	4. IV. Laid to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, this was beta-ed by LadyCarolineMichaelson when this chapter was first published. I'm forever grateful to all the work she put into my fics.

Two Lannister men are dragging Jon—one lean and the other with a protruding gut. The chubby one shoves Jon face first into a tree. Jon grunts as his face slams into the bark. The chubby man turns him around as the lean soldier wraps the ends of his chains around the trunk. Jon’s eyes adjust to see Father resting against the tree.

 

The chubby soldier’s gut pokes out of his tunic as he crouches down and locks Jon’s chains. He throws a punch against Jon’s jaw. Jon looks up into the chubby man’s beady black eyes. He spits in the man’s face. The man sneers at him and backhands the other side of Jon’s jaw.

 

The lean Lannister soldier erupts into laughter and says, “That’ll show the bastard.”

 

Both soldiers erupt into mutual laughter as Jon struggles against his chains. They walk over to Ilyn Payne whose eyes are on both him and Father. Jon leans back against the trunk and looks up at the icy branches above. The white snow upon the branches are white as Ghost’s fur. His heart sinks at the thought of Ghost. His wolf is so far from him now. It's hard to think that he may never see him again.

 

“Jon…” his father’s voice is coarse and dry.

 

Jon looks to his father’s bloodied face. Flakes of snow and dried blood are in his father’s dark hair. His father looks to him with a split lip and bruised eye. He has always seen his father stand so tall and with such dignity. To see his father disgraced makes his blood boil. _Gods_ , if he could kill Joffrey just by thinking it, Jon would.

 

“Jon…” his father calls to him again.

 

“Father…”

 

“I am not your father, Jon.”

 

Jon’s entire body goes numb. He had expected his father to ask of Sansa and Robb. He expected him to ask that he be brave. He even expected that perhaps he would confess his mother’s identity. _But this_? This is entirely unexpected. Jon looks to the man that he has called his father since he can remember. They look so much alike. It must be his father’s way to comfort him in death—to perhaps spin a tale that Jon is of true born blood.

 

“You and I might not live to see the sunrise,” Father continues. “I do not wish for you to die without knowing the truth.”

 

Jon looks into the eyes of the beaten lord. Eddard Stark is an honest man kicked down by enemies he never knew existed. All of his life he had yearned to be the trueborn son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. He craved to sit between Robb and Arya in the Great Hall. But, if he is not Eddard Stark’s bastard son, why would a man of such high birth take him into his care? Jon’s holds Father’s gaze. He breathes as he prepares himself to whatever confession may come.

 

“If I am not your son…” Jon pauses. “Who am I?”

 

“Your mother— _my sister_ …” Eddard Stark coughs heavily before continuing, “She made me promise…”

 

_Lyanna Stark._ It is as if time itself has stopped. Jon feels as if his heart is being cut to pieces. If Lyanna Stark is his mother, there is only one possible man his father could be. The Gods are too cruel. He had desired to live amongst the Patricians like his brothers and his sisters _._ To die knowing that he has always sat in the Empirical Class rather than to be a mere Plebeian is the cruelest joke.

 

That inbred monster sits where his ancestors have sat for centuries with a crown of gold on his head. Jon has never wanted power. He never desired to sit before the senate with a crown of golden leaves. Jon had only wanted to be Eddard Stark’s trueborn son. _But this?_ Jon isn't sure what to make of it.

 

He looks to Father. “My father is Rhaegar Targaryen.”

 

“Yes, Jon,” Father’s eyes are distant. “I fought to get to your mother. I fought for Robert without the knowledge that your mother had ran off with your father. I thought she'd been taken against her will. When I found her, she was holding you…”

 

Father eyes gaze upward as he releases a deep sigh. “Howland Reed is the only man that carries my secret. I could not even tell Cat. Not after what Aerys had done to Brandon…”

 

Jon looks to his father. He can see all the pain and regret in his eyes. Jon lowers his eyes. He tries to picture his mother holding him. He looks back to Father and says, “You did what you had to do to protect me.”

 

“It might have been better if I told you earlier,” Father says. “She named you Jaehaerys after Jaehaerys I Targaryen. It's as if she knew that you'd grow to be patient and kind. It's complicated, Jon. No one could know especially Robert. I named you Jon to protect you. It was the only way…”

 

Jon is stunned. It's as if every limb in his body has been frozen in ice. He sees the High Septon place a crown of gold leaves on Joffrey’s head. He sees Sansa trapped in a marriage with Joffrey. He sees Joffrey hurting her. _No_. He won't die here. He _can't_ die here.

 

_And_ , _Sansa_. _When_ he escapes, he is will free her from the Lannisters. He thinks to Ghost and Lady curled into each other. It is as if Sansa has always been connected to him. He has to save her or at the very least die trying.

 

Jon looks to the two Lannister men accompanying Ilyn Payne. The two chat among themselves as Ilyn Payne stands in silence. Ilyn Payne walks to both men and points in Jon’s direction. The men nod to Ilyn Payne and walk side by side towards the tree.

 

The heavier soldier unlocks Jon’s chain and unwinds it from the trunk. The lean soldier is pulling Father to his feet. Jon eyes an arrow protruding from Father’s right leg. Jon’s chest swells with rage at the sight of it. The chubby soldier pulls Jon to his feet. There's the temptation to elbow the man in his gut, but Jon resists. He must be calm and search for an opening to escape.

 

The heavy soldier is shoving Jon into a clearing as the leaner Lannister soldier forces his Father onto his knees. Jon’s heart stops as he sees Ilyn Payne draw his sword. Father looks to him with bleak grey eyes. It is as if he has already accepted his own death. Jon watches as the steel touches Father’s neck. Ilyn Payne pulls back the sword and takes Father’s head off in one swoop. Blood spurts from Father’s body as his head drops into the snow. The body falls forward with a soft thud. Jon’s guts feel as if they are twisting into knots as he stares at his father’s lifeless body.

 

Jon’s heart is racing as Ilyn Payne is walking towards him. Jon can feel him place the steel against his neck. Ilyn Payne pulls the sword back and Jon ducks. His leg swings towards Ilyn Payne, knocking him backward as his foot connects with the man’s knee. Jon rolls over and grabs Ilyn Payne’s sword with chained hands. He swings the blade against Ilyn Payne’s neck, cleaving his head off in one swing.

 

The Lannister men charge at him with swords drawn. Jon sidesteps the chubby soldier and slices at the man’s neck. The sword cuts halfway through the man’s neck. Jon pulls his sword back and watches blood spurt from the man’s neck in waves. The lean soldier is charging at him, managing to drive the tip into Jon’s shoulder. Jon pulls back and kicks the blade from the lean soldier’s hands. He drives his sword into the man’s gut before kicking him off of his sword.

 

Jon collapses to his knees, panting as his fresh wound stings. He sees Father’s decapitated body. Jon grimaces. His heart feels as if it's being ripped from his chest. He crawls to Father’s head, his chained hands gently grazing Father’s matted hair. A fresh tear slides down his cheek as his entire body stings from sheer shock.

 

Jon looks to his chains and to the ring of keys attached to Ilyn Payne's belt. Jon pulls himself to his feet and walks to Ilyn Payne’s decapitated body. He reaches down to the key ring and pulls it from Ilyn Payne’s belt. He unlocks the lock on his chains, freeing both his hands from their tight restraints.

 

Jon looks back to Father. He cannot just leave him in this clearing. He does not have a shovel to dig a proper grave for the great Northern Lord. _But_ , he won't leave him lying like this. Father deserves so much more. The least he can do is burn Father’s remains. _A Targaryen Funeral_ —the thought of it is heart-wrenching. He should rest in the crypts next to Lyanna Stark. _Next to his mother..._

 

Jon takes the sheath from Ilyn Payne and wraps it around his waist. He sheaths what was once was Ilyn Payne’s sword and walks through the forest. His eyes search for branches on the forest floor. One by one, Jon collects several branches in his arms. His wound stings each time he reaches to pluck a branch off the ground. It feels like an eternity before he finally collects the last branch he needs for Father’s funeral.

 

Jon’s stomach turns at that thought. Father’s men should be here. His wife, his children, and all the people that respected him—all of them should be here. Many of his men are slaughtered while the rest wait for his return in Winterfell. His sons, his wife... _Arya—_ they all wait for a man that will never return. _And Sansa._ She must know her father has been put to death. _Gods_ , she must believe that he has also been put down by Joffrey’s men.

 

Jon moves through the forest until he finds the clearing. Blood coats what was once white snow. He looks to Ilyn Payne, to the Lannister soldiers, and finally to Father. He draws in a deep breath and steps into the center of the clearing. Jon lays the branches in the shape of a wooden bed. He looks to Father’s body. His heart stings at the sight.

 

_It's not fair_. He shouldn't have to do this. He shouldn't have to cremate the man that raised him alone. It's not fair that his sons and daughters aren't here to say goodbye. It's not fair that his devoted wife is not here to see her husband one last time. Jon walks towards Eddard Stark’s decapitated body. The man wasn't even allowed to die with dignity.

 

Jon leans down and takes the body into his arms. He grimaces as his wound tears while lifting the body over his shoulder. He thought he could do this without losing himself to his emotions, but when Jon lays the body on the branches, tears are flowing down his cheeks freely. Jon falls to his knees and draws in a ridged breathe.

 

“ _Gods_ ,” his voice is a harsh whisper as grief overwhelms him.

 

Jon wipes the tears from his face with his gloved hands. His eyes look to Father’s head. He feels as if someone had stabbed him through the heart. Jon rises to his feet and goes to Father’s head. He takes it in both his hands and walks back to the bed of branches. Jon kneels and tries to place the severed head as best as he can against his neck.

 

Jon looks to the bruised eye and split lip. He looks to Father’s grey eyes that are still wide open. He looks to the small space in between Father’s head and body. He tries to hold his tears in, because he's already cried enough. He can't help it. He screams as he falls to his knees once more. He's sobbing uncontrollably. His grief turns to anger—anger towards Joffrey, anger towards Cersei, and anger towards anyone that serves her inbred son.

 

Jon draws in another deep breath and releases it sharply. His clenched fists are shaking as his body trembles. His chest tightens as he breathes several deep breaths. His flesh feels as if it's being pricked by a thousand needles, his legs are numb, and his heart burns with rage.

 

Jon takes two dry sticks from the makeshift bed. He breathes and runs the sticks against each other until fire sparks. The wood underneath Father catches fire and slowly the flames shroud Father’s body like a blanket. Jon rises to his feet and steps back. He releases a deep breath as the fire consumes Father.

 

He stares directly into the fire and says, “I will do whatever it takes to save Sansa. I promise. _Lord Eddard Stark_...you may rest now.”

 

Jon turns away from the fire. He looks to the remains of Ilyn Payne and his fellow soldiers. He walks past them without even a second glance. They are Lannister men. They don't deserve to be put to rest. He’ll let them rot above ground so that crows may pick at their flesh till only their bones remain.

 

There is one thing that he must do. Jon must hold up his promise just as Eddard Stark has held his promise to Lyanna. He will save Sansa from Joffrey no matter what it takes.

  
  
  



End file.
